


we did the math, it wasn't worth it after all

by cremeaufraises



Series: work for others [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, COULD be read as zelink but link doesn't feel that way, Easter Eggs, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, Link (Legend of Zelda) Needs a Hug, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Post-Breath of the Wild, Post-Canon, Sad Link (Legend of Zelda), but blink and you might miss them, give it to him right now give him the hug, he's so sad, idk i'm just saying words at this point, not really expecting many people to see this but if you do hiii, super brief tho... too brief for tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cremeaufraises/pseuds/cremeaufraises
Summary: "Zelda’s quiet, like she’s allowing the words to echo and reverberate in her head. Finally, she says “Do you regret it? Not dying?”There’s a cold breeze coming in, now. He feels it on his skin and closes his eyes. Does he regret it? It’s not as if he had a say in it, thanks to Hylia, Zelda, Ganon, the Sheikah… whoever it was to blame. “Do you regret it?” He asks in return. “Not letting me die? Do you regret it?” It comes out more bitter than he thought it would, but he realizes he doesn’t really care. He feels a familiar, age-old tiredness within him. He’s not sure why, but he knows it should be there."link's sad send tweet
Relationships: Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: work for others [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099451
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	we did the math, it wasn't worth it after all

**Author's Note:**

> title's from later that year by straylight run

Ever since Castle Town has had some semblance of life restored to it, there have been parties nearly every night. Loud, boisterous events that carry on until the early hours of the morning. He thinks he loves it, the way people are starting to hope again, to grow. He’d seen too many dead eyes when he was going across the vast expanse that was Hyrule, back before he aided in sealing the Calamity. It’s nice, seeing the people slowly regain faith, in the Princess and in life itself. He thinks he hates it, the growing noise and the streams of people around the castle. It’s too much sometimes, makes him feel suffocated, lost, like there’s too much going on in his brain. It makes him long for the silence of the woods again, long for the wilds that he feels afraid are going to die now that people have started to relocate.

It’s a stupid fear and he knows it. He knows that Hyrule is years, if not decades away from going back to how he’s told it was a century ago. And yet, he can’t shake the feeling that eventually, the nature that has held him and provided for him since he first woke up will be gone. It frightens him. The wilds have taken back something that once belonged to them. Shouldn’t they leave well enough alone?

So, yeah. His fears are stupid, they’re irrational, and he doesn’t know how to put them into words anyway. He’s not very good with words, he’s realized throughout his constant wandering. It’s something he still needs to work on, but after spending his every waking moment catering to the people of Hyrule, he thinks they may be less than deserving of what he has to say. It’s not as if he’d be taken seriously. He is no prince, he is no noble, and he isn’t even a knight anymore, despite sleeping in their quarters on occasion.

And yet, the Princess listens. _Zelda_ listens. Zelda knows him. She understands him more than anyone, he thinks. After all, it hasn’t been all that long since she, herself, had been the wilds. She holds his hands and looks into his eyes and tells him she’d do what she can to keep the wilderness safe. She’s been more than kind to him, giving him a place within the castle walls for when his fear of being alone beats his hatred for human contact, tries to include him in the process of Hyrule’s slow recovery. He feels her rubbing gentle circles into the back of his hands as if to calm him, and all he can think about is how he doesn’t deserve it after all the pain he’s indirectly caused.

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Sometimes, when it gets too much, Link cries. Covers his mouth and tries not to breathe as tears spill from his eyes.

It’s not as if he’s new to crying, though he used to cry more openly when he was alone at a campfire. Loneliness was a frequent emotion when he was still trekking across Hyrule, the empty feeling he felt _(still feels)_ was too much to bear at times. Unlike how he assumes he used to be, he knows that his vulnerability is not weakness.

Still, it’s almost embarrassing, how overwhelmed he gets. He doesn’t think he cried this much before… _Before_. Maybe he did, and he just can’t remember. It’s not as though that’s new. He wishes he knew himself as well as everyone expects him to. The thought only makes him cry harder.

He doesn’t think anyone in the Castle notices. He continues to help out, quietly, without complaining. He brings fruits and mushrooms he forages (when he feels he can slip away into the woods) to the kitchen staff, helps hunt deer, aids in training the new soldiers when he has time. He carries on like he usually does. No one knows of the tears that fall, because he knows no one cares enough to look.

Zelda tells him, one day, after one of her Big Grand Meetings with her advisors, that he can talk to her, if he wants to. Pulls him aside and looks him over with concern. She’s got his hands in hers again. He hates physical contact sometimes, but he doesn’t protest. He knows she needs it just as much as he doesn’t. There’s so much care and love on her face when she looks at him, it makes his face turn red. He doesn’t deserve a friend like her, he thinks. Doesn’t deserve a friend who watches, who asks, who reassures. He’s done her enough harm, she shouldn’t have to deal with the mess of a person he is. The least he can do is be _honest_ with her.

_I’m so sad,_ he wants to say. Wants to cry into her shoulder. _I don’t know why I feel like this. I wish I knew, I wish I could just drop off the face of the earth. I wish I could go back to when no one knew who I was because then I wouldn’t have to know who I am. I don’t know why I feel so empty. I don’t know why I feel so lonely when I’m here when I have you, and Sidon, and everyone else. I feel so lost, and empty, and out of place, and I don’t know why._

He tries, his mouth opening, but he can’t. He doesn’t know why. He just… _can’t_. Instead, he thanks her, tells her he’ll keep it in mind. He does, but he never takes her up on it. He’s not the best at expressing how he feels, not very good at words. Too scared that what he’ll say is going to hurt someone, he’ll say something wrong and be seen the way he sees himself _(the way he deserves to be seen)_ She reminds him every so often, every few days, that he can talk to her. He’s safe with her, or whatever.

As the weeks go by and Zelda stops looking him in the eye when she says it, he finds himself believing her less and less.

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

As much as Link hates the noise, he knows that the people deserve the parties, the celebrations. They’re not all bad, either. Though he’d rather keep his distance, he can understand the appeal, the bright colours and the lights. The knights work hard during training, too. They need a break; they deserve a break _(They look at him with awe in their eyes whenever they see him. A sort of admiration Link doesn’t deserve, shouldn’t deserve, probably wouldn’t even get if it wasn’t for the sword on his back and the story to his name.)_.

Tonight, though, tonight he really doesn’t understand the reason for celebration. He had honestly hoped that they’d be spared the noise, the racquet, the _headache_. He should have known better. All people want to do these days is party. He thinks he understands why, but he can’t celebrate when he knows of his own failings. He can’t celebrate when he knows he could have done better. He can still do better. He thinks he knows why the people are choosing to celebrate the night of the Battle of Hateno, but he thinks there are better ways to honour the dead.

Link knows. He knows they are celebrating because there is finally a reason to celebrate. It’s understandable, but he doesn’t like it.

He’d already said this to Zelda, in the best way he could, when he learned that the Royal Family _(he has no idea why everyone insists on saying that, it’s just her now, it’s just the Princess)_ , was to be hosting a celebration. She pursed her lips and said it was for diplomacy. Maintaining relations with her subjects, and all that. He nodded, quietly, and said he understood. He did understand, he knew she hated it as much as he did. She asked him to stay around, just that night, just for her. She had sounded so soft, _pleading_ when she said it. He couldn’t say no, but he didn’t make any promises.

One day, they are both going to have to stop pretending they still know each other.

So, he tried. He tried to stay for Zelda’s sake, for whatever remained of their friendship, if they even had that, to begin with. He _tried_ , but the noise. _The noise, the noise_. Tonight, of all nights, he couldn’t take it. What he could do, however, was leave. Leave for the wilds with a bottle of whiskey he had snagged from the slowly reforming, slowly growing, Knight’s Quarters _(a place that he thinks he loves, thinks he hates)_ , and he’s gone.

She joins him, a few minutes, hours, later. Link can still hear the music from where he’s perched; he hadn’t wandered that far, after all. She sits next to him, saying nothing. The bottle he’d taken had barely been touched. He’d realized after he had come out that he hadn’t really wanted it, after all.

They’re both quiet, Link’s listening to the music that’s floating through the trees. _They really did go all out, didn’t they,_ he thinks bitterly, and immediately feels guilty for it. Then he feels angry for feeling guilty. Why does he still have to cater to everyone else? Hasn’t he done enough? And he suddenly wants something a lot stronger than whiskey.

Link’s just about to really start zoning out when she speaks. “You know, I have no idea where or how the knights get their hands on alcohol that isn’t wine.” Curious, Link turns to look at her, unsure of what she’s trying to say. Zelda isn’t looking at him, she barely ever does, now. He turns to look back out at the water. “Impa tells me that anything other than wine isn’t ladylike. It’s the strangest thing. She’s always been more traditional, but she’s never insisted on norms like those. Everyone we used to know is so different now.”

He knows what she’s trying to say about him. It’s on the tip of her tongue. From what he remembers, she’s never been one to cop out like this _(that’s more your job, isn’t it? A voice in his head says, and it’s hard to ignore)_ , but what does he know? It’s not as if he’d know what was different or the same about anything. It’s not as if he cared about a past he barely had a grasp on. _But if you really don’t care,_ the voice in his head whispers, _why are you out here?_

It’s on the tip of his tongue, what he wants to say, but he doesn’t know if it’s appropriate. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. He’s not very good with words.

He grabs the bottle of whiskey, takes a quick sip, cringes when the burn hits the back of his throat and places it in Zelda’s outstretched hand. They spend the next few minutes like that, quietly swapping the bottle back and forth. Sometimes he drinks, sometimes he doesn’t.

“I should have died a century ago today.” Link says, suddenly, quietly. It doesn’t feel quiet, though. It feels like the words ring through the trees, louder than the singing and laughing. “I should’ve died a century ago.”

It doesn’t feel inappropriate to say. It feels liberating. It feels powerful, somehow _(it feels like he’s giving up)_.

Zelda’s quiet, like she’s allowing the words to echo and reverberate in her head. Finally, she says “Do you regret it? Not dying?”

There’s a cold breeze coming in, now. He feels it on his skin and closes his eyes. Does he regret it? It’s not as if he had a say in it, thanks to Hylia, Zelda, Ganon, the Sheikah… _whoever_ it was to blame. “Do you regret it?” He asks in return. “Not letting me die? Do you regret it?” It comes out more bitter than he thought it would, but he realizes he doesn’t really care. He feels a familiar, age-old tiredness within him. He’s not sure why, but he knows it should be there.

She’s quiet again, like she’s choosing her words carefully. Like she’s trying to calm a wild animal. Maybe he is one. “What do you think?” She asks, carefully, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He wants to laugh. That much careful contemplation, and that’s all there is to show for it?

“I think you should’ve let it be, Princess.” Is all he says, all he feels he can say, and then, quieter. “Yes. I think you regret it.”

He hears her shaky sigh, feels her stand, hears her pick up the bottle. He doesn’t watch her leave. He stays there until morning, until the noises of the forests rouse him from his sleep, just as they used to.

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

As far as he can tell, everyone knows at least one iteration of the Hero of Hyrule. It was something he learned as he was travelling, before he defeated the Calamity. No two stories were the same, all of them had different backgrounds, different stories, but the main details were the same, and they reminded him slightly of his own _story (except they didn’t fail halfway through, they didn’t die and have to sleep for one hundred years. He wonders why there’s a bit of resistance whenever he thinks that. Wonders if what he’s been told is actually one hundred percent accurate, then he wonders why he cares)_. It didn’t faze him, they were just stories, probably.

Frankly, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was one, he’d think all the legends were bullshit. But he is a… is _the_ Hero, and so instead he wonders if the Heroes of Legend were treated the way he is now, if they had to deal with the same shit he has. He thinks that the Goddess is a bit fucked up for it, but he feels horrible for thinking that. Hylia’s done just as much good for him _(for them)_ as She’s done bad. And he feels a little bit of amusement at his thoughts coming from deep inside him, something he doesn’t think belongs to him, and he wonders (not for the first time) why that is.

Maybe it has something to do with the way the ruined remains of the Temple of Time seemed so familiar to him when he first woke up. How he felt so achingly _sad_ whenever he would look at it, like he knew how special that place used to be _(even now, it makes his heart clench when he thinks about it, the way something so regal could be reduced to nothing but rubble, but it’s not like he knows what it looked like, anyway)_.

His gut tells him to talk to the Princess, that if anyone would know what’s happening to him, why he feels the way he does, it has to be her. He doesn’t know why it makes sense to him, but it does. He goes along with it without question, but what does he even say? What _can_ he say? When it comes down to it, he’s much too prideful to actually ask for help, he knows he is.

She’s gone when he arrives at her chambers, and he quietly breathes a sigh of relief. It gives him time to think about what he’s going to say, and his legs start to move of their own accord as he does, back and forth and back and forth. He briefly wonders if those that are milling around think he’s finally lost it, but he doesn’t think he cares too much. Maybe he has, what does he know?

It continues until he hears footsteps coming to the door, and his pacing slows to a stop. He’d recognize those steps anywhere, he thinks. He knows it’s her, but he doesn’t know if he knows how to speak anymore.

“Princess!” He says, and he’s startled by the sound of his own voice, startled like he wasn’t the one who’s been pacing outside her room like some fucking creep for the past half an hour. “I was hoping…” and he trails off, his face feeling warm. “I was hoping we could… talk.”

She doesn’t respond to him, but she does open the door to her bedroom, gesturing for him to come inside. He hesitates, wondering if it’s proper for him _(who_ fucking _cares?)_ to do so.

She sees this, and she stops, her hand resting on the door handle. He wonders to himself if she sometimes forgets who she is, too.

“Link?” She says, voice cutting through his thoughts. “What is it?”

He thinks about how stupid it is, to practice talking. It is stupid, especially since he freezes up whenever he tries to talk about anything that pertains to himself _(coward, coward, coward)_. He wishes he could just say it, wishes it was easy for him to say.

_I think at the end of the day, before anything else, I am tired. I have been tired. I will always be tired. There’s no escape from it. It’s just a constant in my life. I feel like I’ve been alive for a lot longer than I actually have. A constant cycle of sleeping and waking. I feel older than my years and I am not quite sure why. I don’t even know if these words belong to me anymore, I don’t know if any of my words are mine anymore. It’s so hard to distinguish between what_ is _and what_ was _. I feel a longing for home but I don’t even know where home_ is _, aside from the wilds. I know nothing_ except _for the wilds._ He wishes he could just say it, but the words don’t come out.

He doesn’t know how to say it without sounding like an idiot _(or worse, like a lunatic)_ , and Zelda’s starting to give him a look that’s two parts concerned and one part annoyed, her eyebrows raised as she waits for him to say what he wants to say. He wonders briefly when he started caring about what other people thought, when he started thinking before he said what was on his mind _(when he started filtering himself)_. It had to be sometime between saving Zelda and watching workers slowly replace the emptiness where the rubble used to be. The train of thought makes him feel so angry he sees red briefly, though he’s not sure why _(it’s always Zelda, Zelda, Zelda, it’s always “think about everyone else except him”, it’s always, always, always…_ always? _)_ , so he cuts his thoughts off where they were.

He keeps his mouth shut, apologizes for no reason _(for thinking for himself)_ and tells her it can wait. She says it’s okay, that they can talk about it later. They both know he isn’t going to. There’s an awkward silence before she claims she needs to head out, something about another meeting and he says he should check on how the knights are doing, anyway. They go their separate ways, knowing they’re lying to each other.

It makes Link feel _that_ much worse.

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

As unfortunate as it is, he still lingers in this castle he hates, as if he’s a ghost that can’t leave. He’d go back to his house in Hateno, but by the end of the week, he’d be back within Hyrule Castle, lingering. He feels distant, lost, and that age-old exhaustion that he can’t quite explain. As he watches the fast-paced movement around him, Link can’t help but feel like he’s no longer wanted. It’s an ice-cold realization that weighs on him heavier than any other burden he’s carried.

He’s no longer wanted, no longer needed.

So, he leaves.

He should have known Zelda would find him soon enough. It seems that, even if he doesn’t know himself, she still knows him better than anyone. It infuriates him, but he’s still not sure if he’s mad at her, or if he’s mad at himself.

It’s nighttime when she does, and Link’s too busy watching the moon to notice her at first. It’s full, but it’s not red, which is relieving, he guesses. He’s up in a tree, back against the trunk as his legs swing from under him. He thinks he should be scared of falling off the branch he’s on, but he’s done this enough times, broken enough bones, to know he’ll be okay regardless. He’s too caught up in his thoughts about trees and wondering why he feels so apprehensive about the moon, why he feels so upset over it _(why it feels like his memories aren’t completely his anymore if they ever were)_ , to realize Zelda’s watching him until she’s right under him.

She’s patient with him, he’ll give her that much. As patient as she can be, with someone who’s constantly testing it. She has to know he knows she’s there now, but she doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Link’s reminded of the night they spent outside, while everyone was celebrating. They let the silence stretch on for a while, until Zelda finally loses her patience with him. She clears her throat, and there is purpose in it. He wonders when she’s started to have the same authority her father used to have, and immediately feels guilty for it. It’s the only reason why he decides to climb down to greet her.

The minute his feet touch the ground, it begins to rain. He knows he will probably be soaked to the bone before he gets… anywhere, but he doesn’t mind. He hasn’t minded before, and he won’t now. He watches Zelda and notices belatedly that there are tears in her eyes, too.

She doesn’t say anything, and neither does he. They just stare.

Link takes a step back, further into the forest.

She doesn’t try to stop him, but his movement seems to break whatever spell they were both under.

“Link,” she says, her voice slow, and Link doesn’t want to linger on the emotion in her voice. “Link, come back.” _Come home._ It’s on the tip of her tongue, he knows it _(he wishes it was home. He wishes he knew where home was)_.

He feels glued to the ground, or maybe it’s just the mud that’s starting to stick to his boots. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t go to her.

Zelda doesn’t move either, but her arms are outstretched like she’s asking him to run into them, like they’re in some sort of fairy tale that has a happy ending. He knows better, and he knows she does too. This won’t end happily for either of them. It never does _(and he wonders briefly how he knows_ that _, and what it even means)_.

“How can I make this better?” She asks, her eyes pleading. “How can I fix this?”

_You can’t._ He wants to say. _There’s nothing to fix. It’s been broken for a century._

_I feel that there is a hole inside me, a void;_ he wants to say, _as if I have lost something and will never get it back. I feel as if this hole is growing and soon I’ll have nothing left inside me, and I’ll rip apart anything that gets close._ He wants to say. _I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to destroy and ruin and hurt. I don’t. I think if I hurt anyone I’d die. But I will. And I have already, I know this. I know I have. But I don’t think I could stand it if I hurt you, or Sidon, or Riju, or Teba, or Yunobo, or anyone else I care about. But I already have. I already have._

He opens his mouth, hoping that this time, _this time_ , he’d be able to get it out, that he’d be able to say _something_ to explain himself.

Nothing comes out from his mouth aside from a few shaky breaths. Tears start to leak from his eyes, and all he can do is back away. All he can do is turn on his heel and run, despite Zelda yelling after him to stop. She’s confused, _she’s upset_ , she’s… she’s _something_. He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know. Besides, right now, Link can’t. He just _can’t_.

After all, from what he can remember, he’s never been very good with words.

**Author's Note:**

> starting to feel like posting this was a bad idea but you know what? we vibe. i don't rlly know another place to dump all my bs so it's going on a public domain <3 happy birthday blue if you've read this


End file.
